


we should be lovers instead

by crookedspoon



Series: Femslash Trope Bingo [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Community: 1-million-words, F/F, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Girls Kissing, Girls' Night, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friday night is girls' night. This time: truth or dare. Harley chooses dare as often as she can get away with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we should be lovers instead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/gifts).



> Written for the theme "Femslash" at Prime Time Desserts February, and the prompts "truth or dare" at femtropebingo, "Crush Blush" at 1mw's Thursday Tropes and "game night" at tropebingo.

"Dare!" Harley yells, one arm stretched over her head as though demanding a teacher's attention. 

Nina jostles her. "Not your turn yet."

Harley tips over, rolling onto her side. Her shoulders connect with the carpet, head landing on Echo, Nina's plush parrot, who records and repeats whatever you say after pressing his tummy. Its plastic beak pokes her nape, but she remains on it a moment longer, waiting for the world to catch up with her relative position. The girls titter as Harley struggles upright without sloshing any Dan & Coke from the lipstick-printed glass that has survived her fall.

Balancing once again on the balls of her feet, Harley notices the bottle's mouth pointing at her. "Hah! So it _is_ my turn. Told ya."

Friday night is girls' night, but instead of going out today, they've decided to stay in – or, the weather has decided, sending out squall after squall to accompany the percussive thunder and the occasional lightning cymbal. Even Pammy, who loves the rain and can occasionally be found dancing in it, agreed that it would be little fun out. Not to mention ruin their hair and makeup.

Which, come to think of, Harley should actually welcome. It couldn't make matters _worse._ Harley's been choosing dare as often as she could get away with, to the annoyance of Diedre and Selina, who wanted to grill her on matters of her sex life and criminal pursuits, like _How many boys have you slept with?_ or _What's the biggest item you've shoplifted to date?_ And while Harley likes bragging as much as the next person, her tongue's not going round today. Sure, that might be the Dan Jackiels they've distributed among themselves to empty the bottle, but Harley's sensitive when it comes to Pammy's opinion of her and how her answers might influence it. Would she sneer at her for being a whore, or ridicule her for being a virgin?

Not that Pammy would actually comment on it, but Harley's desperate to please.

Just as, when the girls dared her to let them try out their makeup collection on her no matter the result, Harley had agreed – as much to prove that she's neither a spoilsport nor afraid of anything, as to have Pammy fussing over her. That didn't stop her from cursing herself for spraying her pigtails with AquaNet though, because they were a bitch to comb out and Diedre none too gentle about it. Harley was about to complain when Pammy tilted her chin up as if to kiss her, and all her carefully composed cuss words died a violent death in her throat.

It was all Harley could do to keep herself from leaning in. Or to keep the blatant adoration out of her eyes. It would've helped if Harley had been able to lower her lashes – as dictated by Pammy, who wanted to apply mascara. Yet no such luck. Not even the heavy foundation Nina had coated her face with could shield Pammy's fingers from the infernal burning in Harley's cheeks, although it might just have been thick enough to shield it from her eyes.

Harley has never crushed so hard on anyone in her entire life. True fact.

When they finally allowed her a peek in the mirror, Harley fell over laughing and upended Pammy's glass with her kicking feet. Luckily, it only contained water – Pammy's the only one among them who doesn't consume alcohol in any way. She claims to have diabetes and is not allowed to drink, although Harley has never seen her inject insulin. Maybe she doesn't want to admit that she can't stand the taste, or that she's unable to hold her liquor. (Which would be adorable. Harley needs to try it out sometime.)

The end result of this creative exercise fell on a range somewhere between Gene Simmons et al. and Pierrot the clown, with her pasty white cheeks, fancy black eye makeup and down-turned lips humongously outlined in red. Harley promptly took revenge on Diedre when the bottle landed on her next. She dared her to call Eddie, their class' resident wisenheimer.

("I don't have his number," the girl stalled, turning crimson.

"Lucky for you, there's something like a phone registry."

"And then what do I say?"

"I don't know. Ask him for his homework or something."

"Are you crazy?"

"Come on, it's just a harmless request! It's not like you're asking him out on a date. Or for a riddle, which I'm sure counts as foreplay with him."

"A harmless request?! Girl, he'll think I'm stupid, and then what?"

"Who says he doesn't already?" Selina threw in, whose grin was taking on Cheshire qualities. Soon it would be all that was left of her.

Never had Harley seen the other blonde so outraged. "Then I'll confirm it."

"Do _you_ think you're stupid? You'll just have to convince him you're not."

"Won't that make me look desperate?"

And so on. Harley was satisfied.)

A snap in front of her nose startles her back to the present, which is still tilting a bit.

"Earth to Harley," Nina says, waving her hand up and down, left and right for attention. "I think she's had a bit much."

"Pity," Pammy says in the most dulcet tone Harley's ears have ever perceived. "I was going to dare her to kiss me, but if she's so far gone..."

There is no word in the dictionary to describe the agility and precision Harley displays in pouncing and tackling Pammy to the floor, pecking her lips over and over, adding coat after coat of red lipstick. Pammy yelps, then laughs, and it sounds like sunshine on morning-dew meadows, like surf on white-bleached sand, like playground memories.

"Challenge accepted," Harley grins broadly, the effect of which must have been spoiled by the contrasting expression painted on her face, but she doesn't care. She swoops down and presses her lips gently against Pammy's, lingering this time.

Pammy holds her fast at the nape and shoulders, and teaches Harley's tongue not only to move again, but a few tricks besides. Harley squeaks, and when Pammy's legs wind around her and squeeze their hips together, she squeaks louder, like a happy little piggy. No, screw happy – elated, ecstatic, out of this world. Nothing comes close enough. To think that this gorgeous, intelligent, funny person Harley's been in love with since she first said hello to her might actually reciprocate her feelings – even if she's just fooling around, or planning to get into Harley's pants for a night – it's the best thing in the world. Almost too much. But. Harley can handle anything, and she'll gladly handle her overflowing heart for Pammy.

"Well, that's a development," Selina says.

"I think we better leave now. There are certain things in this life I don't need to see..."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Jenny" by Studio Killers, [ballad version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGAVBFiOmsE).


End file.
